


Love always wins

by Tame_my_wild_heart



Category: Poirot - All Media Types
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-09
Updated: 2019-06-09
Packaged: 2020-04-23 09:55:45
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,130
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19148698
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tame_my_wild_heart/pseuds/Tame_my_wild_heart
Summary: Some forces conquer all.





	Love always wins

It had started out such a glorious day in late spring. I was gazing out of my office window. The beautiful weather had brought all the children out onto the street below. I watched them, their joyful laughter floating in through the open window. I sighed. I had never expected to have children, they were something other women had, women blessed with beauty rather than efficiency. But even I occasionally felt the pull at my heart-strings, even more so as I got older. My daydream was interrupted by the sound of the front door opening. I stuck my head out of the door. “I’ve put your letters on your desk, Mr. Poirot. Oh, and would you telephone a Mrs. Jane Harrison? She called while you were at lunch. I said you’d call her back. The number’s with your post.” He thanked me, and proceeded into the living room, pausing to hang up his hat and use the hallway mirror to minutely adjust his bow tie. His finicky little ways never fail make me smile.   
His return call to Mrs. Harrison resulted in him and Captain Hastings leaving to meet her at her home. I was happy enough to be left alone; any amount of peace and quiet allowed me to work on creating the perfect filing system and I believed I was nearly there. But a part of me wondered what it would be like, longed to know the adrenaline rush of chasing villains and saving the day. I shook my head tossing away my silly notions. I was needed here. This was my job, not playing detective.   
They returned a few hours later. Mrs. Harrison had been victim of a particularly vicious robbery. Three masked men had broken into her house and ransacked it, tying her up and brutally assaulting her. As we drank our coffee, I shuddered at the thought of it. Glancing at the two men over the rim of my cup, I noticed that while Mr. Poirot was clearly deep in thought, Captain Hastings’ hand shook as his entire body simmered with barely-concealed rage. It didn’t really surprise me. Mr. Poirot had been a police officer, he must have seen the worst of humanity. Of course, Captain Hastings had seen his fair share of horrors, but they were confined to the battlefield. He wasn’t used to seeing women treated in such a way, and it had clearly shocked and angered him. Of course I sympathized with her, it was only natural, and just as Mr. Poirot’s precise habits and fastidious ways were as predictable as the sunrise, so too was Captain Hastings’ proclivity to side with a woman. There was something comforting about his reliability. I became aware that Mr. Poirot was speaking. “I think that we should pay a visit to Monsieur Harrison. I should like to satisfy myself of his alibi.”  
“Surely, you don’t suspect him do you?” Captain Hastings was horrified. “What man could do...that...to a woman?”  
“Sadly, mon ami, there are those that do.”  
For a military man who had seen so much to look so wounded on someone else’s behalf made me want to cry. Mr. Poirot regarded me with a thoughtful expression. “I think I will pay a visit to Monsieur Harrison, and you, Hastings, shall return to Madame Harrison. And I should like for Miss Lemon to accompany you.” I was surprised.  
“Why me?”  
“Because women talk to other women. She may reveal things that she could not say to a man. Or, she may reveal her secrets.”  
“You think she is lying about something? Impossible, she couldn’t fake all that.”  
“Ah, Hastings, always ready to leap to the defence of a lady. You forget my friend, the female of the species is more deadly than the male. The cuckoo that throws an egg out of another bird’s nest. It is the female mosquito, not the male, who is silent yet spreads the malaria.”  
“But they’re animals.”  
“So are humans. You think we are so very different? I think not.”  
Captain Hastings opened his mouth to argue, so I decided to change the subject. “Will you be safe, Mr. Poirot? Going to see Mr. Harrison on your own, I mean.”  
“I shall ask the Chief Inspector to accompany me. Excuse me while I telephone to him.”  
The Captain and I finished our coffee in silence. I could tell he was uncomfortable with some of what had been said. With the arrangements made for the following morning, he made his farewells and left. I took the coffee things into the kitchen to wash up. I had helped Mr. Poirot on cases before, but usually only as a sort of window dressing to force a confession, or to help him create the theatrics that Captain Hastings seemed to enjoy so much. But this was the first time I was going to have a part in the investigation. I would never admit it aloud, but as fond as I am of my filing, I was excited to go.  
Morning came, and we set off in our respective pairs. Mr. Poirot left in a car with the Inspector. As it was another beautiful day, Captain Hastings and I elected to walk. It was some distance, and the Captain had offered to drive, but I wanted to take advantage of the glorious sunshine. As we took a short cut through the park, I breathed in the scent of the flowers. We stopped to watch a duck waddle across the path in front of us, her string of fluffy yellow babies cheeping behind her. One by one they plopped into the pond. We laughed as she gave an indignant ‘quack’ and one last little duckling scurried out of the bushes and joined its siblings.   
Taking the short cut had put us ahead of schedule and coming across a charming little tea shop by the pond, we decided to stop for a while. Always the gentleman, Captain Hastings pulled out my chair for me to sit. I took out my purse, but he insisted on paying himself. As I looked around at the other couples, my eye was drawn to one in particular. An elderly couple, clearly still as much in love as they were the day they married. I wished, not for the first time, that someone would look at me like that. The rattle of a tea tray startled me. Captain Hastings was back and placing a cup in front of me. As I poured for us, he looked where my attention had been directed. I saw the sadness that ghosted across his face. I sipped at my tea, hoping he wouldn’t see that I had seen.  
Tea drunk, we walked the rest of the way to the Harrison house. Without being aware of it, I slid my arm through his, bringing us closer together. Close enough that I could smell his cologne. He seemed quite happy to walk this way, or maybe he was just too polite to object. Either way, it was nice to think that onlookers might imagine we were a couple. We reached our destination far too quickly for my liking, the house being next to the far end of the park. Ringing the bell, we were admitted by the maid who ushered us into the parlour, where the lady of the house was waiting for us. Knowing that I was expected to coax more information out of her, Captain Hastings let us talk, choosing instead to observe her body language. Shortly he excused himself and made use of the bathroom. He was quite a few minutes and by the time he came back, I had finished my interview with Mrs. Harrison. I couldn’t put my finger on it, but I had the feeling there was something she was not telling me. As we left, Captain Hastings pulled me around the side of the house. “There’s someone else in the house. I caught a glimpse of them when I was upstairs. Just a flash, but definitely a man.”  
“A member of the household?”  
“She told us yesterday, they only have a cook and a maid.”  
“And it can’t be Mr. Harrison.” I felt my eyes widen. “An affair!”  
“Must be. The question is, does Mr. Harrison know?”  
“Maybe he staged the robbery to punish her.” Even as I said it, I found it hard to believe.  
“Filthy swine. Affair or not, there’s no excuse for that behaviour.” The Captain was peering in through the window. I joined him. There wasn’t much to see. Giving it up, we decided to leave. At least we had something to report. This time, he intentionally linked arms with me. We had just got as far as the gate when a loud bang split the silence. The noise faded, only to be replaced by screaming. I looked down to see my Captain collapsed on the floor. Thinking that he had tripped, I knelt down and rolled him over with the intention of helping him up. A bright red stain was oozing across his chest. That’s when I realized the screaming was me.   
What happened next was confusion and panic. Desperately trying to stop the bleeding, I pressed my handkerchief against the wound. All too quickly it became sodden with blood, so I used his as well. I wasn’t even sure I was making any difference. I was terrified. At first I thought it was fear for my own life, somewhere there was someone with a gun. I quickly realised that actually I was terrified of losing him. He was dying, right before my eyes and I couldn’t stop it. I took his hand, lacing my fingers through his and pressed both of our hands against the bullet wound, wadding as much fabric beneath them as I could. Pulling his upper body toward me, I laid his head in my lap. Having heard his stories from the trenches, I would be dammed if he was going to die anywhere but in the arms of someone who cared for him. It was the least anybody deserved. At least I could make it peaceful for him. Brushing the hair out of his eyes, I kissed his forehead. “It’s alright, Captain Hastings.” It wasn’t. “You’ve been so brave. You’ve done your duty, you are the best of men.” I struggled on, despite the tears flooding down my face. “You can sleep now.” I remembered a picture I had seen. He was a soldier after all. “It has been an honour serving with you.” The couple from the tea shop were among the crowd, many of whom were openly sobbing. One look at them spurred me on. “I love you Arthur. I’m sorry that I couldn’t save you.” The world darkened and as I succumbed to oblivion, I was only vaguely aware of being relieved of my precious burden and collapsing into somebody’s arms.  
I awoke, who knew how much, later. It took a few minutes to orient myself, but I managed to pull myself upright. Looking out of the window I saw that it was night. Pressing my fingers to my eyes, I rubbed them vigorously, trying to ease the gritty feeling. I realised that my clothes were gone and I dressed in a hospital gown. The memory hit me like a slap in the face. Arthur was dead. My legs turned to jelly and I reached for the nearest available support. The table crashed to the ground with me and I clutched at the bed linen. I screamed for him, I cried for him, and suddenly two pairs of arms were raising me to my feet and sitting me back on the bed. Blankets were round my shoulders and hands were holding mine.  
I got my breathing under control and blinked hard several times to try to stop the tears. I felt a handkerchief wipe them away. Now that I could see, I looked up into the faces of my friends. The compassion in Mr. Poirot’s face threatened to set me off again. “I’m so sorry. He was your closest friend. I couldn’t save him, I didn’t know how, didn’t know what to do.” I could feel the hysteria building. He gripped my hands tighter.  
“Shush, shush, shush ma petite. Captain Hastings is not dead. It is true he is gravely ill, but, be reassured, he is alive.”  
I felt a spark of hope. “Really?”  
“Bien sur. I could not be so cruel as to give false hope. You have saved him. I am more grateful than you know.”  
I was shaking with relief. Inspector Japp patted my shoulder. “He’s fit and strong, he’ll pull through. Where there’s life, there’s hope, as they say.” Once they had assured themselves that I would rest, they left me in peace. And I tried. I sat in bed and looked out at the sky. A shooting star whizzed across the inky blackness, and I made a wish. I wished harder than I had ever wished for anything. Finally I could sit still no longer. Risking a look through the door, I saw the Chief Inspector leaving the room opposite. He could only be visiting one person. For him to be so close yet out of reach was more than I could bear. I crept across the corridor. Quietly pushing open the door just a little, I saw Mr. Poirot sitting by the bed. His head was bowed and he was murmuring something in French. From the few words I was able to make out, I realised he was praying. I had never seen him do this before. I realised he must be feeling awful. He had sent us there. Obviously, he never imagined this would happen, and it was hardly his fault, but I knew him well enough to know that if his friend didn't survive, he would never forgive himself. Slowly I backed away making sure the door didn’t bang. As desperate as I was to see Arthur, I had far too much respect for my employer to intrude on such a private act. I retreated to my room and joined him. I must have dozed off, for when I awoke he had been and gone, a bouquet of roses by my bed the only sign anyone had been there at all. I could wait no longer. I need to see him. To hear him breath, feel his heart beating, to reassure myself that he was alive. I plucked a single bloom from the vase and crept across the corridor.  
Feeling momentarily triumphant in my deception, when I saw him lying there I gasped. He looked so pale and still, impossibly so. I held my breath and didn’t move, my eyes fixed on his chest. Finally I saw the slightest movement and heard the faintest exhalation. Nearly crying with relief, I sank into the chair by his bed, popping the rose into a water glass. My shaking hand reached for his. As I took it, my fingers ran over the inside of his wrist. His pulse wasn’t strong, but it was steady. Suddenly I didn’t know what to say. I had said goodbye to him. I had told him I loved him. If he had heard me, would he remember? If so, how could I take that back? Would I want to? How could I look him in the eye now? I couldn’t stay silent any longer. “Please, please come back to us. Mr. Poirot needs you, not that he’d ever admit it. And I need you. I can’t go into that office every day knowing that you won’t be there, fiddling with my files. I don’t know if you heard me before, it doesn’t matter anymore, I thought you were dying, I know it won’t be long before you get your head turned by some pretty young girl, but I can’t bear the thought of the world existing without you in it. Without you to protest at the unfairness of it all. Oh, Captain Hastings, please don’t leave us.” I was interrupted by a nurse, come to check on her patient. Obviously annoyed to see me out of bed, she chivvied me back to my room. I did notice that she was nice enough not to move the rose. I did not notice the twitching finger.   
I had not been back in my room long when the same nurse appeared. She began to give me a stern lecture about male and female patients fraternizing with each other. She seemed rather taken aback when I told her I didn’t give two hoots about policy. “I’m not sure you would either if you believed the man you loved had died in your arms.” I explained what had happened. The nurse took my blood pressure and smoothed down the bed sheet. She seemed to be satisfied I was no longer suffering from shock. “Doctor starts his round in seventy-five minutes. No-one will disturb you before. But I know nothing, okay?” She winked conspiratorially and I gave her a grateful smile. As she sauntered through the door I heard “Coast’s clear” before she disappeared back onto the ladies ward. Before anybody could see me, I slipped inside his room.  
Part of me wanted to stay away, to not have to face him, face the rejection. I sat by his bed, both content to just be near him and also at a loss for words.   
“You called me Arthur before.”  
The voice was weak, but unmistakable. I felt my eyes go wide. My mouth moved, but no sound came out. His gaze was clear, those blue eyes I feared I would never see again. Incapable of doing anything else, I ran. I ran and hid in my room, the door open just a crack. I saw him stagger out of his room. I wanted so much to go to him, but my legs were unwilling to work. I saw him start to fall, and out of nowhere the Chief Inspector was there, supporting him and pushing him back into his room. Some clothes had been delivered for me, and having been discharged by the doctor, I dressed and prepared to leave. But something pulled me back. Listening at his door, knowing how appalled he would be, I hated myself for it, but I had to hear.  
“I heard. In the park, I heard what she said.” I was horrified.  
“And she knows that you know?”  
“Yes. So what do I do?”  
“Talk to her, I don’t know. ask Mr. Poirot, he knows her better.”  
I had to say something. I took a deep breath and opened the door. Both men turned and stared at me.  
“I thought you were dying. Dying in my arms. I thought that it might be more peaceful if you thought...if you thought someone loved you, you could die happy.”  
I turned on my heel, almost colliding with Mr. Poirot. He followed me outside. “Miss Lemon? Whatever has happened. Captain Hastings is much recovered, is this not good news.?”  
“It’s wonderful. I’ve never felt so relieved.”  
“Then why are you so sad?”  
“Because I told him that I love him. And it’s true. But I told him it was just the moment. I know I’m not his type. I’m not young, or pretty, or glamorous. Not good enough for him.”  
“What does your heart tell you?”  
“That I should take a running leap, feet first, and see where we land. But in situations such as these it is perhaps better to use one’s head.” With enough money to get a cab, I was at my flat in a little under half-an-hour. I had no intention of leaving it again, convinced I would be unable to look Captain Hastings in the eye. I would miss them both, the Chief Inspector too.  
I had not set foot outside for over a week. The phone had rung several times a day and the stack of unopened telegrams was growing. I had written to Mr. Poirot, tendering my resignation. I had made plans to go and stay with a friend, but my packing was interrupted by a knock at the door. I waited, but the knocking didn’t go away. It became more insistent. I didn’t want to answer, looking Mr. Poirot in the eye while I tell him I’m leaving would be impossible. It wasn’t him. Leaning against the door frame, and looking like he should still be in the hospital, was Arthur Hastings. The intensity in his eyes caught me off-guard. I pulled him inside before he collapsed on my doorstep. “You should be in the hospital. What on earth are you doing here?”  
"I thought you should know. Poirot and Japp solved the case. You were right, Mrs. Harrison was having an affair. They set up Mr. Harrison to take the fall to get him out of the way. Shooting me wasn't originally part of the plan. I suppose they thought it would add to the husband's guilt, shooting an intruder in his home."  
"You came all the way here to tell me what I could easily read in the papers?"  
“I needed to see you. You weren’t answering your phone, or telegrams. We were really worried. Poirot said you resigned.” He looked around the room. “Are you leaving?”  
I shrugged. “It’s best. I’ve made such a mess of everything here...”  
“What on earth do you mean?”  
“You know exactly what I mean. I thought you were dying. I told you one of my deepest secrets, and no doubt it was the last thing you would ever want to hear.”  
“Why would you say that?”  
“Because I’m ordinary, I’m not young, or pretty, or glamorous. I’m not what you want and I can’t give you what you deserve. So it’s best I go.”   
“Don’t presume to think for me.” The sharpness in his tone stung. He obviously noticed, for he softened immediately. “I didn’t mean to snap at you. Please, tell me what’s made you so upset.”  
I sat on the sofa, suddenly unwilling to talk. He sat beside me. “I can’t believe for a second that you don’t realise how beautiful you are. I certainly think you are.” I could feel myself blushing. “You are. And as for glamour, well there are more important things. Loyalty, compassion, you have those in spades. But as for the other thing you said, I need you to explain that.”  
“Promise not to pity me?”  
“I promise.” He moved closer. I could smell his cologne again. It brought back the whole thing and I started shaking from the vivid memory. Arthur put an arm round me and held me close. “What’s the matter?”  
“You’re wearing the same cologne. It just brought it all back.” He said nothing, just waited for me to continue. His strong arm round my back felt safe and comforting.  
“When I was a child I was very ill. For quite a long time. That’s why I’m usually so happy on my own. I got used to it. I spent a long time in isolation.”  
“What was it?”  
“Tuberculosis.”  
“Good Lord! It’s practically a miracle you survived. I had no idea. Are you completely recovered?”  
“As much as I ever can be. I know you’re trying to work out why I’m telling you this. I want you to be happy, you deserve it. You deserve a wife who can give you children.”  
The truth was dawning on him now. “And you’re...”  
“Infertile.” I tried to pull away from him, but he wasn’t letting go.   
“It doesn’t matter. It doesn’t. I’d rather not have children with you, than have children with someone I love less. Did you mean what you said? In the park? I never thanked you. What you said, it meant more than I can say. I thought I’d had it. I made my peace with it. I was remembering the war. All those men, dying alone, no-one to comfort them. And then you were there, and I wasn’t alone. It made it alright, somehow. And then I decided that it wasn’t okay. I couldn’t die, not once I realized I had a chance with you.” He held my hands tightly. “Did you mean it?”  
I finally saw it in his eyes. The love I had hoped to see. The last of my resolve fell apart. “Absolutely.” He pulled me into the most wonderful hug I’d ever had and his kiss made me go weak at the knees. After we had thrown propriety to the wind, I laid with my head on his chest. If it had been up to me, I would have stayed there until the sands of time ran out. Sadly, it could not be. After all I had a resignation to withdraw. 

The end.


End file.
